


Tripping Into Us

by DaydreamDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Eventual Smut, Ex-Con Dean Winchester, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaydreamDestiel/pseuds/DaydreamDestiel
Summary: He was fourteen when his brother was arrested, when he was left on his own. Sam's whole life turned upside down.Six years later, Dean was finally being released. Sam's mission, his one goal, was to make sure Dean didn't wind up right back in jail.Benny Lafitte might have seemed like a good guy, but as far as Sam was concerned he was trouble Dean didn't need. No matter how attractive Sam found him. He was trouble. He just... had to keep telling himself that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoudenSwainfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudenSwainfangirl/gifts).



> This needed to be written. I'll be honest, we all know I'm a random updater. Haha. So I probably won't be super regular with this, but Michelle'll keep me from leaving you all too long I'm sure. Lol.
> 
> Awesome art by: [@roobear68](http://roobear68.tumblr.com). Thank you <3<3

It was middle of the night, dead of winter dark in Sam's room when he woke up from another nightmare. Sweat damp, his heart pulsed loud and frantic in his ears, blue and red lights that'd lit up his dreams still fading from his vision. He bolted up to sitting, already wanting to tell himself it was just a dream, that he was fine. The truth, though, was that it wasn't just a dream. And he wasn't fine.

Instead, he climbed out of bed, bare feet on the crappy carpeting that covered eighty-percent of his shitty two bedroom apartment in an even shittier part of town and walked out to his tiny kitchen. He couldn't afford to turn on all the lights just to chase away a bad dream, and they wouldn't help anyway, so he crept there in the dark by memory alone. Sam got himself a cool glass of water and leaned against the counter.

The visceral feeling that something important was missing wasn't unfamiliar—it was how he'd lived for the last six years. His brother's absence like a sucking void in Sam's life. After living in each other's pockets for fourteen years, suddenly finding himself alone the night they'd taken Dean into custody had been like losing a part of himself.

A part that he was getting back in—Sam's eyes flashed to the glowing numbers on the microwave—about four hours, give or take how long Dean's release actually took.

He gulped down water and took some calming breaths, talked himself down from the panic attack simmering just under the surface of his skin. Things would be different this time. Sam was grown up now, he could take care of Dean instead of Dean getting into trouble trying to take care of him. Making friends with the wrong people and paying for it with years of their lives gone.

He'd make sure Dean stayed on the straight and narrow. Now that Dean didn't need to scrape together enough money to keep them both in clothes and shoes and food and whatever housing they could scrounge enough money together for, Dean could do it, Sam knew he could.

Smart and resourceful, Dean could make it work—and Sam was gonna help him. He'd get Dean on his feet, get him used to re-entry.

Over the last year Sam'd read up on it, all about how the first few hours were the most vulnerable for recidivism. How the stress of the first few days and months could lead to people committing crimes out of desperation and he was determined that it wouldn't happened to Dean.

His brother had talked a good game when he called, when Sam had gotten to stop by for visits. Dean had promised he wouldn't get put away again, but Sam knew from reading just how hard adjusting could be. So he'd done his damndest to make things easy for him. He'd gotten a two bedroom apartment he could afford on his part-time job and scholarship money, so that Dean would have a place to live where Sam could keep an eye on him.

He'd lined up a job with an old friend of their dad's, the only decent one among 'em, for Dean. Working on cars was probably one of the only useful things John Winchester'd ever taught Dean, and Bobby's salvage yard was somewhere that Dean had always liked to play in when they were little.

Bobby had been more than happy to give Dean a job. He'd told Sam he wished he'd known how rough things had gotten for them back then. It seemed like he felt somehow responsible for Dean winding up in so much trouble, but it wasn't Bobby's fault. Dean's questionable judgement of character was the sole result of being around unsavory people for most of his life as far as Sam was concerned. And that was all on John. He'd dragged them all over hell’s half-acre looking for something to distract himself long enough to forget his problems. Except nothing ever did.

The point was, he had a place to live and a job lined up for Dean. He'd even picked up an apple pie and ice cream for him so that they could celebrate his release.

Six years was a long time, and Sam knew he'd changed a lot. Dean had too. He just hoped they'd find a way to be a family again. And this time, Sam was determined to keep him from making any bad decisions.

Still a little agitated, he ran a hand through his messy hair and set his glass in the sink. Then he stumbled back to his bed and tried to will himself to sleep.

——

Sam stood reclined up against the hood of the Impala in the prison parking lot. He could've waited in the heated interior, but it was making him itch with anxiety. All the worst case scenarios that ended with Dean not showing up crowded in his head. Not even the familiar leather and motor oil scent of the Impala's interior had calmed him.

It'd been nice of Bobby to hang onto it all this time, to buy it back from the government in the first place and fix it up for Dean. He'd been good to Sam, had even tried to get custody of him when the state put him in foster care. Unfortunately, they hadn't deemed him fit, which still made Sam angry. So his house was cluttered and his yard was a little dangerous and he didn't have experience dealing with kids. Still better than the crappy group home Sam’d ended up at.

At least he would've had someone who gave a crap about him around. Bobby had done his best to show up for Sam, though, even if he couldn't let him live with him. And Sam would forever be grateful, because he was pretty sure the only reason he'd decided to go to university was Bobby telling him how smart he was, how proud he was.

The numbing cold and the grey wet muck under his boots didn't offer much more distraction than the inside of the car, turned out, if Sam's melancholy memories were anything to go by. He sighed and crossed his arms. Tucked his fingers against his sides for warmth. Any second now, he told himself, Dean would walk out that door and Sam could see for himself that he was fine.

A handful of heartbeats later the door swung open on silent hinges and Sam's breath caught in his throat. Pretty pale blue eyes set in a handsome face raked over him with an odd sort of recognition that Sam didn't understand. The guy was big and tall, broad but muscular in worn jeans and a torn jacket. Black newsboy cap on his head that made his eyes seem darker somehow. And for a heart stopping moment, Sam thought he was gonna walk over and give him bad news about Dean. What if he got hurt or worse?

But then the guy got playfully shoved aside and his rich chuckle sent a shiver down Sam's spine that he wasn't entirely convinced was the bad kind and Dean popped into view no less ragged behind him. Sam should've brought him new clothes, Dean's barely fit him anymore and a wriggle of guilt in his gut made him suddenly shy as Dean smiled at him.

He offered a smile of his own and Dean shook hands with the guy. Patted him on the bicep and nodded toward the car and Sam's stomach clenched, what the hell was Dean doing? Either the guy caught the flash of panic on Sam's face, or he genuinely didn't want the help, Sam didn't know, but he shook his head and nodded toward the bus stop.

And it was cold, all right, Sam’s conscience prodded him into walking.

“He a friend of yours?” Sam asked Dean as he closed the distance and boy, those weren't the first words he thought he'd say to his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean said thickly, “Benny kept me from gettin’ the crap kicked outta me more 'n once.”

“Okay,” Sam said, tossed Dean the keys so he could wait in the car and jogged up to where Benny, apparently, was standing at the bus stop sign.

“Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “My brother says you saved his ass and I … I don't know where you're headed, but we got room in the car if you need a ride. Just … um, to wherever you're headed.”

Those blue eyes on his felt like livewires, dangerously addictive, something kind buried underneath layers of tough exterior. “Nice 'a you, cher,” he said in a Cajun accent that Sam told himself wasn't attractive. “But in all honesty, I got Dean into way more trouble than I ever saved him from. You don't owe me a damn thing and neither does he. I got some family I'm headed to see, long way from here. The bus'll do me fine.”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Well, if you're sure?”

“You're a sweet kid,” he said, “Dean's told me a lot about you. Make sure he keeps his nose clean, alright? And tell him to quit his worryin’. 'm a grown man and I don't deserve it besides.”

And Sam knew, he _knew_ better than to push some stranger, but he couldn't help it, “Why don't you deserve it?”

“Ask Dean sometime,” was all Benny replied and a pit sank in Sam's stomach. Dean never talked about the things that happened to him in prison, and from the look on Benny's face it was pretty bad. Maybe Dean wasn't the only shitty judge of character. “He's getting itchy to get outta here by the way.” Benny informed him with a nod back at the car, and _right._ Shit.

“Yeah. Okay. Bye, I guess,” Sam said with a frown before he walked away. What the hell was he doing? He hadn't even hugged his brother for fucks sake. Why’d he even give a rat’s ass if some ex-con wanted to wait out in the cold? Dean was his priority. And besides, by Benny's own admission he was bad news. Probably better all around for Dean if they never crossed paths again.

“Guess Benny's tougher than he looks,” Dean teased as Sam slid into the driver's seat.

“Huh?”

“Well, he turned down your puppy dog eyes and I've seen 'em first hand.” Dean said with teasing grin. “Man you got tall!”

“Shut up,” Sam said and leaned over to wrap Dean in a quick hug. That empty hollow in his chest faded a bit, still scarred at the edges and tender, but at least he wasn't alone anymore. At least he had his brother back. “Let's go home.”

——

Three weeks. Dean’d been living with him for three weeks and Sam was … happy. Happier than he'd been before that was for sure. He still had nightmares that woke him up but so did Dean. More often than not they wound up on the couch in the early morning hours while they each cradled a cup of coffee and stared at the TV. Neither of them talked about their bad dreams, hell, they never even admitted that they had them in the first place, but Sam knew. And he knew that Dean knew, too.

They were coping though, they’d started to settle into routines and Dean seemed to be on his best behavior. None of the risky shit that he’d been doing at eighteen. He didn’t sneak out after Sam was in bed to hook up with random strangers, he didn’t drink much aside from a beer or two after supper, he didn’t get in fights and he went to work on time. From what Bobby told Sam, Dean was fitting in great. And Sam oughta be really glad about all of that. Hell, he _was_ glad about all of that, but it had his hackles up too.

Things were _too_ easy with Dean. Like he was hiding something and trying to keep Sam from getting suspicious. So Sam was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And he hated that he was waiting for it. Hated that he couldn’t just trust Dean. God, he was an adult, acting like one too, but all Sam saw was a reckless teenager who still knew how to lie to everyone and get away with it, and most of all Sam. Except this time Sam was jaded enough to see it coming.

So he waited, and he hoped he was wrong, and weeks melted into a few months. Sam slowly grew complacent. Even went whole days without that stomach wrenching feeling that he was laid out at a guillotine and the blade was gonna drop any second.

From the kitchen, Dean called out, “Hey, you want a beer?”

“Sure!” Sam shouted back as he tried to decide what to watch on TV.

A few minutes later Dean dropped onto the opposite end of the crappy grey-possibly-at-one-point-had-been-blue couch Sam was sitting on and handed him an open bottle of beer. “Dude, just pick something.”

“You wanna pick?” Sam offered and held out the remote. Dean grabbed it and went back to doing exactly what Sam had been doing; he scrolled through the titles on Netflix and took like fifteen minutes to settle on a comedy special that turned out to be halfway decent.

In the middle of it, the cell phone Dean had gotten with his first paycheck from Bobby went off. Sam frowned but didn’t say anything, just pretended he wasn’t listening in even though he was.

“Hello?” Dean said. “Just a sec—there’s not enough bars.”

He shrugged apologetically at Sam and headed for the door, slipped into his boots and jacket while Sam struggled over whether he should follow him outside or not, because this? Was setting off a whole damn cavalcade of alarms in Sam’s head. Bullshit there weren’t enough bars. Reception here was fine. Dean just didn’t want Sam to know who he was talking to or what it was about.

Sam’s decision was made less than five minutes after Dean had slipped out the door. He’d glanced over at the dish on the rickety little table by the door and noticed the Impala’s keys were gone. Fuck. Sam’s stomach dropped and his eyes stung, but he fought his reaction down. Rushed over and shoved his own sneakers on and didn’t bother with a coat.

Cold of the night air bit at his exposed skin when he got downstairs, but his adrenaline and rising fury drove him toward the parking lot. Dean had the good grace to look a little sheepish when Sam caught him about to slide into the driver’s seat, but before he even got there, he saw Dean’s shoulders square and his gut clenched.

“The hell are you doing, Dean?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he shrugged a shoulder, “There’s something personal I gotta take care of.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sam asked, frustration in his voice that he couldn’t tone down.

“Means, it’s personal. And I gotta take care of it,” Dean replied, face stony.

And didn’t that just push every damn button Sam had, “You can’t just take off without saying anything or explaining what the hell’s going on to me, Dean!”

“Look Sam, I’m a grown-up and I can take care of myself. I get that you’ve got some kinda hero complex role reversal shit going on, but I _don’t_ actually answer to you. I have to help a friend who’s in trouble and—”

Sam ground his teeth, furious and indignant, “What _friend,_ Dean? Last I checked all your friends were in jail. Except—” Sam’s mouth was working faster than his brain and he was so damn mad it was impossible to keep his temper in check. “Except that guy, what’s his name? Benny? So, what? Some ex-con got himself in trouble and you’re just dropping everything to go help him? You have work tomorrow morning, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Like Bobby’s not gonna let me off the hook if I call and yeah, so what if I am dropping everything. I owe Benny big time.”

“Really? ‘Cause the way I heard it, Benny was trouble you didn’t need.”

“Don’t know what to tell ya, Sam. I don’t have time to stand around arguing with you. He needs help—I’m helping,” Dean said, eyes hard.

Everything was sliding out of Sam’s control, going sideways and there had to be a way to keep Dean from making a dumb decision. “Then I’m coming too.”

“No,” Dean said, no room for argument. “You’re not. I’m not dragging you into this.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not sitting here waiting all night for the call that tells me you’re not coming back, maybe for good this time. I can’t—” Sam choked off and rubbed a hand over his mouth, blinked back tears that were welling up. “Don’t make me.”

There was a drawn out moment where Dean wavered and then he sighed, “Get in.”

Relief hit Sam hard and he rushed around to the passenger seat and climbed in. His anger shifted from Dean to Benny. Dean was just doing what he always did, trying to take care of people who mattered to him. It hurt like fuck that he was more worried about some guy from prison than Sam, but maybe Dean figured Benny needed him more. Either way, Benny had said himself he was trouble and Sam hated that Dean was putting himself at possible risk. He didn’t have a damn clue what Benny was doing, but it couldn’t be anything legal if Dean was so hellbent on keeping Sam away from it.

So Sam wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop anymore, because here it was, dropping right in front of him and he was gonna do his best to mitigate whatever damage it was gonna cause. As Dean pulled out of the lot, Sam seethed and stared out the window. Wanted to ask what they were headed into, but wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know either. Whatever it was, he swore to God, if Dean got hurt or ended up back in jail, Benny was gonna have Sam to answer to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter 2! All I have to say is Benny's backstory grew this fic into something much bigger and a little darker than I intended it to be. But I like it and I'm enjoying the challenge. XD

The icy chill of the night air seemed even colder in the abandoned warehouse that Benny had limped his way into. His threadbare coat offered scant protection against the climate, but he tugged it tighter anyway. The sluggish trails of blood that were still oozing from the cut on his cheekbone and his split lip were half-frozen. His head pounded with a headache and he’d’ve killed for a couple ‘a extra strength Advil right then. Just to dull the pain a bit.

He pushed away thoughts about how he’d gotten himself into this mess and just concentrated on not passing out. Dean lived roughly an hour from the edges of the city Benny was hiding out in. It was lucky as all hell that he’d ended up close enough to the only person in the whole damn world he had left to count on for help. Absently, he scratched his fingers through the scruff of his beard, a tad less kempt than he’d’ve liked, and winced when he brushed over a blossoming bruise. Much more concerning was the burning sensation in his side. The knife wound was shallow enough, hadn’t hit anything vital, so far ‘s he could tell, anyway. Hurt enough that he wound up on his ass, cold concrete beneath him that didn’t do the chattering of his teeth any favors.

In and out, his alertness faded as he stared at nothing. The battery on his phone dead since just after he’d texted Dean the address of the place he was holed up. He had no idea how long he’d been there or how much longer he’d need to wait. Didn’t know what he’d’ve done if Dean hadn’t answered, and he tried not to think about it. Or about Dean’s kid brother’s pretty blue-green-brown kaleidoscope eyes. They'd been stuck in his head for days and he still hadn’t been able to figure out the expression in them that day. Caught somewhere between pity, wary curiosity, and something else that’d been haunted him before he’d shut it down with that comment about being trouble for Dean.

Benny wasn’t good for people. Not ever. His past always caught up with him one way or another. Sometimes worse than most, like tonight. Wasn’t anything he could offer that boy other than pain he didn’t deserve and if he hadn’t been desperate, he’d’ve never have put himself in Sam’s path again. Temptation of those pink lips and shaggy too-long bangs that curled around his eyes, broad shoulders, a trim waist and slim hips, was strong enough that the memory of him was still crisp in Benny's mind. Had he mentioned the height thing? How someone that tall was able to look so wide-eyed innocent—so young—was beyond him, but Sam had.

Even though Benny knew, from what Dean’d told him, that Sam was used to a life of hard knocks, he didn’t look it. He looked like the kind of guy who deserved white picket fences and happily ever after with 2 kids and a dog and a law degree or something. And that was never going to be Benny’s life. The last few months had shown him that.

He braced his weight heavily on his arm, palm splayed on the freezing concrete and he barely flinched at the stretch of abraded, torn, skin over his knuckles. The sound of the door opening off to his left should’ve sent him to his feet, put him on the defensive, but the most he could muster was tilting his head in the right direction so that he’d see who was coming. Too tired to much care if it was Dean or the old man’s goons. He was just ready to be done.

Still, when Dean came into view a feeble pulse of relief flared up in his chest, followed by a trip in his heartbeat when Sam trailed shortly behind.

“Benny!” Dean called out, voice tight when he caught sight of him, jogged the last few steps and looked him over with worried green eyes.

“Long time no see.” Benny drawled, as if he wasn’t sprawled out on a dirty floor, bloodied up and run down.

“Too long, man. You’re not lookin’ so hot.” Dean said as he dropped to his knees beside him.

“Always a charmer, huh?” Benny aimed for a smirk and probably landed on a pained grimace.

“Not to cut the reunion short,” Sam interrupted, “but we should probably get him out of here. He looks half-frozen and he needs a hospital, Dean.”

Before Benny had a chance to say anything, Dean shook his head, “No hospitals. Benny’s on parole. They find out he’s been fighting and they’ll throw him right back in. Nobody’s gonna believe it was self-defence.”

Sam frowned, “Was it?” at Benny and Dean’s uncomprehending stares he added, “Self-defence?”

A lopsided smile curled up Benny’s lips, seemed as good a time as any to start building walls between him and Sam. Keep his distance. “Started that way, ended a lot different than I imagine they intended it to. Wasn’t a fair fight to start with, only four on one and I coulda taken on that many before my extended vacation care ‘a the government. Learned how to handle myself with a lot more, a lot tougher than them.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, incredulous and it made Benny want to laugh, but he held it in. “Doesn’t look like it went so well for you.”

“Yeah, well, you oughta see how it went for them. What was left of ‘em, anyway.” Benny said with a grin that showed off his teeth.

Sam’s eyes widened, and he blanched a little, and then Benny did chuckle.

“He’s joking, Sammy.” Dean rolled his eyes. “Benny, tell him you’re yanking his chain.”

“Fine, left ‘em alive and kickin’. Well, maybe not kickin’, but alive.” Benny allowed, “Any chance one of you wants to help me up so we can get out of here before I bleed out slow? Got a mild—all things considered—stab wound.” He cupped his side with his free hand and thought vaguely that he probably should've put pressure on it or something, but hindsight was always twenty-twenty, or so they said.

“Damnit.” Dean swore. “Yeah, c’mon.” He hauled Benny up, and got himself under his arm. “Jesus. Sam, get his other side. Forgot how heavy you are.”

Now, he probably would’ve made a comment about that, but he let it slide. Mainly because he was busy fighting the sudden dizziness that blurred his vision, and nausea that churned in his stomach. Wouldn’t do to lose his lunch over the people takin’ care of him. By the time he could focus again, Sam was tucked up warm against his other side. A line of heat that felt distinctly different from Dean. He shoved that thought away and focused on walking.

 

\---

 

“Benny? C’mon, man, wake up. Don’t make us try ‘n carry your ass inside.”

Benny groaned and blinked his eyes open. Scrubbed a hand over his face and flinched, because hell, that wasn’t something he oughta do for a while. Memory came flooding back and right, Dean was there. Trying to herd his ass inside, hopefully somewhere warm and comfortable where he could pass out again. “'M up.” He mumbled, eyes heavy weights that took much too much effort to open.

Getting out of the car, making it up to their apartment, was a blur. Hazy clouded thoughts, but he was still conscious. It wasn't until Sam laid out towels on the couch and they sat him down that Benny started to focus again. Understood what Dean was saying.

“We gotta get him to get his shirt off. You still good at stitches?” Dean asked Sam, and Benny didn't have the energy to raise his eyebrows, but if did, they'd've shot up.

Sam shrugged and frowned. Wasn't fair that someone that pretty looked so disgruntled. And that right there was how Benny knew he was a little out of it. “I mean, it's been awhile.” Sam said. “But I don't think it's something you forget.”

“Benny?” Dean's voice cut through Benny's daze, and he focused on him instead 'a starin’ holes through Sam. Had to control that. “Hey, man, you with me?”

He managed a nod.

“Good, Sam's gonna help you get your jacket and your shirt off, I'm gonna gather up the shit we need to get you patched up. You'll be fine, Sam's dealt with worse.”

Had he? Benny knew they were raised rough, but he'd only been fourteen when Dean’d ended up in the slammer, so what was a teenager doing patchin’ up wounds worse than this. Benny's curiosity was piqued, but he didn't have the wherewithal to ask because Sam's hands, big, warm, were tugging his jacket off. It wasn't pain that made him hiss when Sam pulled his shirt over his head, it was the way he effortlessly maneuvered him with those callused, gentle hands that did it. He was a big guy, not many people tried to guide him to do anything, and they certainly didn't usually do it with such deftness.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled as he settled him back. Blue in his eyes dark in the dim lighting. “Dean's probably got some whiskey around here somewhere to help numb the pain a little. I'm gonna go wash my hands real quick, okay?”

“Sure thing, cher.” Benny mumbled tiredly. Lack of sleep, the cold earlier, and his injuries all worked against him. Barely coherent anymore. Sense left enough to know that the less he said right now the better.

Sam just got more and more interesting with each new thing Benny learned about him. In the span of several long blinks, he was back. He handed Benny a bottle of Jack, then spread Benny's legs apart and knelt down in between to get a better look at the gash on his side. If his head hadn't been pounding in time with his pulse, Benny mighta enjoyed the sight a little more. Fortunately for everyone, his splitting headache kept him from truly appreciating it right then.

As Sam's fingers grazed the area around his injury, Benny unscrewed the cap and took a few long pulls that burned on the way down and heated up his stomach. A couple more and he finally felt like he might eventually get some warmth back in his limbs.

After that things got fuzzy between Dean coming back with the supplies that Sam needed, Benny downing probably more alcohol than was advisable and the exhaustion of too long without sleep. There was vague pain in his side while Sam stitched him up. A sharp, pulling sensation that made him grit his teeth, but it wasn’t so bad. Dulled senses currently a blessing. Odd things stuck out, the brush of Sam’s fingertips over his skin, the way his eyes seemed to shift between dark blue and olive green as he concentrated, furrow between his brows that Benny had the urge to smooth. The gentle way Sam taped sterile gauze over the stitches, and Dean’s voice the soundtrack to it all as he tried to keep Benny alert.

Sam stood up. And Benny already missed his hands. Didn’t have time to miss them for long because they were back with a warm wet cloth as they washed his face off. Scrubbed at patches of blood, careful around the cut on his forehead and his lip. Sam’s own bottom lip was caught between his teeth as Benny placidly let him clean him up. He ended up with some antiseptic ointment and a bandage over the cut on his forehead. Sam’s fingers on his chin tilted his head back as he examined the cut on his lip. An unhappy line formed between his eyes as he brushed the pad of his thumb so softly over it that Benny barely felt it physically. Still heated something in his chest. Finally, Sam let him go, stepped back, said, “Done.”

“Alright, let’s get him into my bed.” Dean sighed. “I’ll take the couch.”

Benny shook his head. Tried to convey that he’d be fine on the couch. Didn’t wanna inconvenience them more, but his head swam.

“Dude, your room smells like someone died in it. There’s junk and dirty clothes everywhere. Plus, I haven’t seen you wash your sheets since you moved in. No way it’s sanitary to put him in there.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, and Benny managed a slurred assurance that he was fine right there. Maybe wasn’t clear as he thought because Sam just frowned at him for a second before he looked back at Dean. “We’ll put him in my room. I just washed my stuff yesterday.”

“It’s not _that_ bad.” Dean replied. Sam stared him down, and Benny’s eyes flicked sluggishly between them. This warm tug in his stomach, because this was what family looked like and he wasn’t used to seeing it up close like that. “Yeah, okay.” Dean finally admitted, “Maybe it’s that bad. Whatever. Help me get him up.”

Somehow Benny managed to be steady on his feet once they got him standing. He trudged down the hall behind Sam, and was almost unconscious before he hit the bed. The last thing he heard was Sam saying, “Help me get his boots off.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Update!!!

A dull ache was blooming in Sam’s lower back, there was a crick in his neck and his legs were borderline cramped when he woke up. He groaned and rolled over, ended up with his face smushed into the back of the couch until he sucked in a stale breath of old furniture smell. Gross. He flopped over and flailed for a second before he landed on the carpet in an ungainly lump with another groan. He was normally a morning person, but man, this fucking sucked. As he disentangled himself from the blankets he was caught in he smacked his funny bone into the coffee table and grunted. A laugh from the hallway startled him and he glared up at Dean.

“You’re so graceful.” Dean said with a grin as he headed for the kitchen.

Sam didn’t even have it in him to rise to the bait. He just hoarsely grumbled, “Coffee?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on.” Listlessly, Sam stared up at the ceiling until his blessed—wonderful sometimes—brother set a mug full of sweet, sweet coffee on the table next to him. He winced as he pushed himself up to sitting and Dean dropped onto the couch, raised an eyebrow at him. “Take it the couch didn’t treat you well last night.”

“Not so much.” Sam agreed. He took a sip of his coffee and savored the heat and bitterness of it. “D’you check on your guest?”

“Yeah. Benny’s looking a lot better this morning. Still asleep; but man, he looked like he needed it, huh?” Dean said.

True enough, he’d definitely been through the ringer, but now that he was out of immediate danger, Sam’d started to worry a lot more about how he’d gotten into it in the first place.

Between the lumpy uncomfortable couch and his anxiety over Dean being involved in anything that could turn out to be illegal, Sam hadn’t slept well. He was wiped out, probably a little irrational and a lot moody.

“Do you know what happened to him?” he asked.

Dean’s eyes averted, which meant yes, but he shook his head and took a sip of his coffee instead of answering. “Don’t know much more ‘n you do. But…uh…Benny doesn’t fight if he can help it. Not a lot of people try to pick a fight with a guy like him.” Dean shrugged a shoulder, eyes distant. “Guys that do? Real bad news.”

Great. So now on top of worrying about whether the cops were gonna knock on their door looking for Benny, Sam had to worry about thugs with a bone to pick showing up. A headache was slowly building behind his eyes, so Sam heaved himself up and stumbled into the kitchen. Shook loose two of the last four ibuprofen in the bottle from the top of the fridge and downed them with a glass of tap water. He frowned at the chlorine taste he still wasn’t fully used to and set his glass on the counter.  

“You gotta go grab some more painkillers,” he called out to Dean. “Benny's probably gonna need more than two. And we need milk.”

There was a frown on Dean’s face when he walked back in the room. He was still sitting on the couch, mug clutched in hands.

“What’s up?” Sam asked as he dropped onto the opposite end of the couch and sagged back into the cushion.

“Just figuring out what I’m gonna tell Bobby,” he said with a little sigh.

“Nothing,” Sam listlessly flapped a hand at him. “I’ll stay, you go.”

Dean shook his head, “You have classes.”

Sam’s raised his eyebrows a little, “So? Your job’s more important.”

Mirthlessly, Dean said, “Dude, it’s really not.”

“Yeah, Dean, it is.” Sam frowned. He knew exactly where this conversation was headed and he hated it already. The patented Dean Winchester you-deserve-better-than-me speech.

Right on cue, Dean’s eyes dropped to his mostly empty coffee mug. “Sam, you going to school trumps my job any day. I’m not worth fucking your life up over.”

Irritated, Sam scoffed. Why was Dean so hellbent on thinking he was worthless? He wished he could make Dean see just how good he was. How smart he was, how grateful Sam would always be for the sacrifices he’d made for him. But it wasn't like Dean would sit and listen if he tried to explain that to him.

“Dude, it’s only a day,” he said, hint of frustration in his voice. “I haven’t missed a single class this semester. One’s not gonna matter much. Besides, I’m too tired to pay any real attention, anyway. I’ll just get notes from Jess.”

The fight seemed to drain from Dean, “You sure? You don’t exactly seem like Benny’s biggest fan.”

True, but Sam shrugged a shoulder, “He’s hurt, he’s your friend. I don’t have to like that he’s here to take care of him.”

After a beat, Dean nodded, “Yeah, okay. I…uh, better get going if I'm gonna make it to Bobby's on time.”

“Don't forget the Advil and milk on your way home.”

He rolled his eyes, but Dean nodded. Trudged to his room for something and then headed out. Once he'd closed the door, Sam rubbed both of his palms over his face. Some half-assed attempt to rub away the sleepiness that weighed down his eyelids. Finally, he heaved a short sigh and pushed himself up to standing. Half-empty mug of coffee forgotten on the table, he went into the kitchen. Benny needed breakfast and pills. Maybe the rest of the Jack he hadn't quite polished off the night before, depending on how sore he was.

In all honesty, Benny was damn lucky. Whoever’d stabbed him, definitely hadn't known what they were doing. The wound wasn't incredibly deep, hadn't even made it into the abdominal cavity. It’d really ended up being more of a deep long slash than it was probably intended to be. He'd lost a bit of blood, sure, but not a really dangerous amount by the looks of things. Sam was fairly confident that he'd be okay, he just needed to heal. Last night he'd seemed pretty out of it, though Sam figured that'd had more to do with the cold, and obviously exhausted state he'd been in. What'd happened to him?

While he toasted and buttered some bread, fried a few eggs for both of them, Sam considered the situation they found themselves in and came to the conclusion that the sooner they got Benny patched up and back on the road, the better. His stomach gave a guilty twist, but Dean came first. Anything illegal put Dean at risk of ending up back in jail, and Sam wasn't so sure he'd be able to survive all on his own again. He wasn't sure he had it in him.

Before he took Benny's breakfast in to him, Sam shovelled down his own and tossed the dishes into the sink to deal with later on. He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. Time to go play doctor. His cheeks flushed as soon as he thought it, even if he hadn't meant it like  _ that. _ Whatever. He needed to take Benny's breakfast to him before it got cold and gross. He stuck a pin in that thought to dismantle later.

Plate in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other he made his way to his room. The door was shut, so he had to awkwardly hold the mug to his chest with his arm and bend down to reach the handle. Probably looked dumb, but it got the job done. He straightened up as he pushed the door open and soft pale blue eyes met his when he walked in.

“Oh, you're already up,” Sam said with a smile he hoped looked friendly enough.

Benny smiled back at him a little as he walked over to the bed. “Yeah,” he said voice rusty-deep with disuse, “woke up a few minutes ago wonderin’ where I was. Honest, even in prison, Dean didn't keep a room this organized.”

“That's because it's not Dean's, it's mine. Dean's is gross.” Sam’s smile turned real as he handed over the plate. Benny had himself propped up against the wall, with Sam's pillow wedged behind his back. Blankets pooled around his waist, he was still shirtless, broad shoulders, thick arms and a generous dusting of chest hair on full display—a fact Sam tried not to focus on—and he looked miles better than he had the day before. Definitely needed a shower to clean the remaining blood and grime off of him, but he wasn't nearly as pale as he'd been last night.

Benny set the plate in his lap, and kind of stared at it a beat too long, this look on his face that Sam couldn't place. “Uh…crap, you're not vegan are you?” Sam's cheeks heated at Benny's startled chuckle.

He shook his head, “Naw, I'm not. I was just thinkin’,” he glanced up at Sam again, shyly, “if anyone's ever done this for me.”

“Made you breakfast? Or breakfast in bed?” either option twisted something sharp in Sam's gut.

“Both.” Benny mumbled, color in his cheeks as he looked away again.

“Oh.” Sam didn't know what to say to that, “Um…well, hope it lives up to expectations.”

“Considering I didn't have any, I'm sure it'll do just fine, Sam.” he said with a wry smile before he shifted, and dug in.

In a way that wasn't altogether unpleasant, Sam's stomach lurched the warmth in Benny’s voice when he'd said his name, “So,  how do you feel this morning?” Sam asked as he stood awkwardly beside the bed. His room was too small to have a chair or a desk or anything, so the only option to sit was the bed, and that seemed a little too intimate just then.

Benny's head tilted back and to the side, like he was taking stock of his injuries and Sam tried really hard not to find that adorable. A man that big shouldn't be able to look so cute, but even with bruises and a bandage on his forehead and a split lip, Benny was pulling it off. “Sleep did me good. Probably wouldn't've been so out of it last night if I'd had some real sleep in the last few days. Three hour stretches only get a man so far. Thank you, by the way, for patchin’ me up last night. You did good.”

Ruefully, Sam smiled down at him, “Yeah, well, wasn't my first rodeo, that's for sure.” He ruffled a hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh. “You didn't really answer my question though.”

“Caught that, huh?” Benny asked, eyes on his plate as he cut up a piece of egg.

“I did.” Sam frowned, arms crossed. “Which if you're anything like Dean means you feel pretty damn crappy but you don't wanna burden anyone. Stop me if this sounds familiar.”

Benny grimaced a little as he scooped up a bite, “I've seen better days. But it's not all that bad.”

“All I've got for pain is ibuprofen. It's not much, but it might help.” Sam offered. “And then we should get you up so you can shower. Just try to keep the bandage from soaking through, but we’ll change it when you're done anyway. You can borrow some of Dean's sweats and a clean t-shirt. Might be a little snug, but he's broader than me.”

“After that I'll head on out.” Benny said, and something in Sam's chest kind of ached. He should want that. Should want Benny gone. It would keep Dean safer.

“Uh, no.” he said, lips turned down. “You won't. You're injured. Do you even have anywhere else to go?” The way Benny avoided his eyes said no clear as day. “Yeah, I'm not just gonna let a guy who got stabbed yesterday wander around on his own. You need a place to lay low for a bit and recover…and you called Dean for a reason.”

Benny's blue eyes flew guiltily up to meet Sam's, lips drawn in a tight line. “I called Dean because there was no one else to call. I never should've dragged the two of you into any of this, and the longer I stay, the higher the chance you'll both be in danger. Neither you or your brother deserve to be repaid for your kindness with misery.”

Sam's stomach clenched. Here was Benny telling him that if he stayed there he'd be putting them in danger, and a huge part of Sam said cut your losses and let him go. Put Dean first. Dean needed someone to put him first. And it was on the tip of Sam's tongue to say okay. To clean Benny up, hand him what little money he had in the emergency jar in his sock drawer, and let him walk out of there. But then he thought of Dean. More specifically, how Dean would react when he found out that Benny had left, even if it was for the better.

Sam knew Dean better than he'd known anyone else in his life. Even prison hadn't changed that. And Dean? No way he'd want Sam to choose his potential safety over his friend’s actual safety. No way he'd accept it either. He'd be out hunting Benny down soon as he got home, and Sam quickly realized that would be a lot more dangerous than getting Benny to stay. All it would take was the wrong question to the wrong person and Dean could end up just like Benny yesterday. Or worse.

It didn't help that Sam's own conscience blanched at the idea of letting Benny take off either. “Maybe we shouldn't be involved, but we are. Like hell we're gonna let you leave like this though. A week, at least, Benny. Dean's never gonna stop hounding you if you go before you're healed. How much worse would it be if he stuck his nose where it doesn't belong looking for you?”

Benny grimaced again, his eyes cut to the side. “Dean and that friend thing of his,” he complained. Sam couldn't help but smile. Loyalty always was Dean's biggest downfall. “Fine. A week. And then you,” he pointed at Sam with his fork, “help me convince that boneheaded brother ‘a yours to leave me behind when I go.”

Sam nodded, conspiratorial half-smile on his face, “Deal. Now eat and I'll go get the Advil.”

“Sure thing, cher.”

Sam's stomach gave a little flip that he ignored. Benny probably called everyone that, he shouldn't react to it like this every time. His cheeks heated too, but he pretended he couldn't feel it as he walked out to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water for Benny. After he got him straightened out, maybe set him up with Netflix on his laptop, he'd go clean Dean's room, put fresh sheets on his bed and crash in there for a nap.

Bottle of pills and glass of water retrieved, he headed back into his room. Benny had managed to clear his plate, and had set it and the fork on the nightstand in the time that Sam was gone. If he didn't live with the way Dean ate daily, he probably would've been surprised. Benny's head was tilted back against the wall, eyes closed, and arms crossed. Sam had a queen size bed, and Benny made it look so much smaller.

He cleared his throat, and Benny opened his eyes, small polite smile on his lips as Sam gave him the glass of water, then unscrewed the cap on the pill bottle, shook the last two pills out into Benny's hand, “Take these and then I'll help you get set up in the bathroom.”

“Thanks,” Benny popped the pills into his mouth and took a swig of water, swallowed them down.

Pointedly, Sam didn't watch the way his throat bobbed. Even if his eyes briefly flicked down. Just for a second. Once Benny’d drained the glass and set it down on his plate, Sam helped him to his feet. He seemed steady enough, so Sam led him down the hall to the bathroom. Grabbed him a towel at the linen closet on the way. He hung it up on the rack beside the tub, and started the shower up.

“If you need to make it hotter, the blue one’s actually the hot water. They're backwards. Are you good to…” Sam gestured at Benny's boxers.

Benny's eyebrows rose a little, and he smirked, “I can manage.”

Yep, Sam was definitely blushing, but he squeezed past Benny back toward the door. “Okay…uh…well, I'll leave you to it. I'll bring in some clothes from Dean's drawer and leave them on the rack next to your towel for you.”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright.”

There was an awkward little moment where Sam just nodded his head before he remembered that he needed to leave, and then heat crept up from the back of his neck into his cheeks as he stepped back out the door and closed it. Through the door he heard Benny chuckle again, and he rested his head on the wood for a second, embarrassed. He gave himself a moment just to feel stupid, and then headed off in search of clean clothes in Dean's room.

In his bottom drawer he found a baggy pair of grey sweatpants that Dean didn't wear often, and then he rifled through his shirts. Came up with three candidates: the biggest was a white Henley, the stretchiest was a smaller black t-shirt and the third was Dean's favorite Metallica t-shirt. So, really, two candidates because he did wanna survive after Dean came home. He waffled for a second and then just grabbed them both, Benny could pick which he wanted to wear.

That settled he wandered back toward the bathroom, clothes clutched to his chest. He tapped on the door. “Benny, you in?”

There was a responding yes, so he opened it and hung the sweatpants up. “I wasn't sure which shirt would fit you better, so I’ve got a couple choices. Might as well leave it off though, until after I check on your stitches. I hung clean sweatpants up for you, and I'll meet you my room with the shirts and bandage stuff when you're ready.”

“Okay.” Something was off about Benny's voice. It was thick-slow.

“Hey. Uh, you doing okay in there? You sound…” Sam trailed off not sure how to explain it.

“Just…uh…just a tad dizzy. I'll be fine.” Benny said, “I'm gonna a get out now, anyway.”

Sam bit down on his bottom lip, chewed it a second before he offered, “I can help you out of the tub if you need me to.”

“Sam, I'm fine.” Benny reassuringly said.

“Right. Okay, well…I'll wait in my room, then. If you need anything just call me, I'll hear.”

A little amused, a little warm, Benny’s voice was quiet when he said, “Thanks.”

“Anytime…uh, I mean—” Sam scrubbed a hand over his burning face as Benny laughed, rich and full and it echoed in the small room. Somehow it even managed to tug Sam's lips up in a self-deprecating smile. “You're welcome.”

“I knew what you meant, Sam,” his tone was happy, and Sam’s stomach made a sad attempt to flip over in response.

“Right. Okay, I'm just…I'm gonna go. Now.”

Benny was chuckling again as Sam retreated. He shut the door behind himself and fetched the first aid kit, then wandered into his room. Sat on the edge of his bed and tried really hard not to think about Benny getting out of the shower, or wet pink-flushed skin. Mostly he just wondered what the hell was wrong with him? All signs pointed to Benny being a lot of trouble. Bad news all around, and here Sam was thinking about him in ways he definitely shouldn't be. That he couldn't afford to be.

Sam never did things by halves, and especially not romantically. Unlike Dean, Sam didn't do one night stands and flings. He'd only been with less than a handful of people in his life. People he'd thought he was in love with at the time. Sure, he was often attracted to people, but sex was something personal, intimate, and Sam liked to know the person he was doing it with.

And Benny…Benny couldn't be someone Sam got to know. Not if he was gonna let him go in a week. So Sam tried to distract himself and thought instead about what disgusting things he was going to find when he cleaned Dean's room. Probably plates under the bed with fuzzy green mold on them. Magazines with sticky pages that he didn't wanna think too much about. Dirty laundry piled in a thick layer over the carpet.

Finally, he heard the bathroom door open and he very nearly sighed in relief. Or wanted to until Benny was filling up the doorway with his wide, wide shoulders. A bead of water tracked down over Benny's chest, down his defined abs, and soaked into the grey material of sweatpants that clung to his hips. And if Sam had found him attractive earlier? Cleaned up and flushed with color from a shower…Benny was in a whole other league now. Sam forced his gaze back up to Benny's face. Crinkles at the corners of too-blue eyes and a knowing smirk on his lips.

And Sam? Was so  _ screwed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sam. Fighting his so hard.
> 
> As always, if you liked it, please let me know in the comments. Rarepairs are fun, but the whole rare part means a lot less people read it and my fragile, fragile writer's ego needs some extra stroking. 
> 
> If you also want to share it with your friends, here's a link to [reblog on Tumblr](https://daydreamdestiel.tumblr.com/post/171802122502/tripping-into-us-daydreamdestiel-supernatural) or retweet it [here on Twitter](https://twitter.com/DaydreamDestiel/status/973265348605685762?s=09). Thanks guys! <3


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